


Say It's Hard Luck

by sevenfists



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: M/M, Originally Posted on LiveJournal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-13
Updated: 2007-12-13
Packaged: 2018-10-19 06:52:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10634556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevenfists/pseuds/sevenfists
Summary: Brendon doesn't notice anything until well into the tour. Fall Out Boy's on a break, and Pete comes out to spend a month or two with them, and while it's maybe a little weird that Pete Wentz abandons his business empire to follow his proteges around the country like some sort of glorified groupie, it's nothing that strikes Brendon as particularly out of the ordinary. Pete does what he wants, and always has.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to mcee for beta work.

Brendon doesn't notice anything until well into the tour. Fall Out Boy's on a break, and Pete comes out to spend a month or two with them, and while it's maybe a little weird that Pete Wentz abandons his business empire to follow his proteges around the country like some sort of glorified groupie, it's nothing that strikes Brendon as particularly out of the ordinary. Pete does what he wants, and always has.

And since Pete's on tour with them, there's nothing unusual about him hanging around backstage during all of their shows, or about him disappearing with Ryan afterward. Pete is one of Ryan's closest friends; Brendon would be shocked if they _didn't_ spend a lot of time together. He imagines them sitting up late and painting their toenails or whatever it is they do together. Talk about the secret inner man-pain of their tender hearts. Brendon has no idea.

So when he sees them huddled close together in one of the back hallways near the dressing room, his eyes skid right over them without stopping. He's on a mission: Jon's got an eighth of weed that he's cruelly withholding, and Brendon doesn't have time for distractions. Pete and Ryan aren't nearly as interesting as the prospect of getting really fucking high.

It snaps back to him later, though, when he's watching Jon and Spencer play Guitar Hero—or, kind of watching them, but mostly staring out the window the bus at the dark highway flashing past. He's not thinking about anything important: just about the burrito stand they went to in Topeka, and how Spencer won't quit doing his obnoxious Scarface voice even though Ryan hates it, and then he's thinking about Ryan, and about Pete's hand on Ryan's waist, sliding up beneath Ryan's t-shirt, and then Brendon sits up straight and frowns.

It's an odd thought. He turns it over in his head, mulling, and he kind of does remember something funny about seeing them earlier, their locked-in tableau, the way Pete was kind of backing Ryan into the corner, the way Ryan looked so small even though he's got at least three inches on Pete. The weird, wide-eyed look on Ryan's face. And Pete's hand, bridging Ryan's spine.

"Huh," Brendon says out loud.

"Shh, you're distracting me," Spencer says, taking one hand off the controller long enough to reach back and smack at Brendon. It's not like he's paying attention to what he's doing, though, so Brendon dodges easily.

"Missed me," Brendon says.

"If you make me get up, I can promise you I won't miss," Spencer says.

"You're cruel," Brendon says. "You're like a sociopath. You're like Charles Manson, Spencer."

"That's why you should shut up," Spencer says, but he's smiling, so Brendon counts it as a win.

"I think _both_ of you should shut up," Jon says.

Things devolve from there until Brendon's running around the bus with Jon's socks on his hands and Spencer's doing his weird snort-laughter thing, and Brendon manages to forget about the stuff with Pete and Ryan.

But now that he's noticed it, it's like he can't _stop_ noticing. One night he stumbles to the kitchen for a glass of water and sees Ryan sitting in the lounge, pulling on his shoes. He's gone when Brendon wakes up, and he doesn't come back until after lunch, a mouth-shaped bruise on his neck flaring purple-red.

"Way to go, champ," Jon says, holding up his hand for a high-five. "Who was it, was it Melissa?" Melissa's their new merch girl; she's been tilting her hips at Ryan for weeks now, but Brendon doesn't think Ryan's noticed.

"Oh, you know," Ryan says, shrugging, and pours himself a glass of orange juice.

"Ha, I _knew_ it!" Jon says. "Spencer owes me five bucks. Spencer! You owe me five bucks!"

"I don't owe you jack shit," Spencer yells from the bunks.

It's not that Brendon really thinks anything's going on, of course. He's just—Ryan can be kind of naïve, sometimes, and he's got a tendency to let people take advantage of him without being aware that he's letting them do it. And Brendon's used to taking care of Ryan, ever since they were still scraping together money for rehearsal space, since Ryan spent weeks at a time crashing at Brendon's apartment, hollow-eyed and pale. It's second nature by now. He acts without thinking about it: Ryan's got a secret, and it's a secret about Pete, and Brendon needs to know what it is.

He watches some old James Bond movies for tips, and then starts following Ryan around. It's surprisingly easy. Ryan spends most of his time lost in his own thoughts, sitting in the lounge staring into space or listening to music, or scribbling in his notebook, or wandering around outside looking up at the sky. Brendon could be the least competent stalker _in the world_ and it wouldn't make a difference. He could stand around holding signs saying, "I'M STALKING YOU, RYAN ROSS," and Ryan probably wouldn't even notice.

Nothing interesting happens for a week. Ryan hotboxes the back lounge with Jon a few times, and he eats a lot of corn-dogs, and he and Spencer go for long walks together and glare at Brendon if he tries to join them. It's really not very nice of them. Kind of exclusionary. It gives Brendon an uncomfortable twinge in his chest, like when he was seventeen and still trying to ingratiate himself to Ryan and Spencer, make it so they wouldn't be able to leave him behind in Vegas while they went on to conquer the world.

"Why don't you ever go on walks with _me_?" he asks Spencer before a show one night, when Spencer's busy fussing with his hair and likely to be distracted into honesty.

"Because you aren't having constant emotional crises that require, like, considerable amounts of my time and energy," Spencer says. He glances over at Ryan, who's working on filling his daily quota of "brooding while staring into space" time.

"Oh," Brendon says. "Good point."

"Yeah," Spencer says. "And don't get any bright ideas, if you start having crises I'm turning you over to Jon."

"He'll just make me smoke a lot of weed and go buy break-and-bake brownies with him," Brendon says.

"My point exactly," Spencer says.

Brendon hits pay dirt at the beginning of his second week of surveillance. Ryan's doing his boring wandering around thing, and Brendon's tired and sunburned and about to give up and go back to the bus for a nap, but then Ryan veers off toward the crew bus. Brendon ducks behind a van and watches as Ryan punches numbers on the keypad and climbs the steps onto the bus.

It's a long wait. Brendon's glad he brought a water bottle. He hums Sublime songs to himself and chucks rocks across the parking lot. The asphalt's warm beneath his ass, heated from the sun. He watches feet move by on the other side of the van and tries to identify them by the shoes they're wearing: tech guys, Zack, dudes from other bands, Jon with his flip-flops.

"Jon," Brendon says, but Jon keeps on walking.

It's forty-five minutes before Ryan emerges from the bus. He's not alone—Pete's with him, and they're holding hands. Ryan shakes Pete off before they're all the way down the steps, but Brendon knows what he saw. He narrows his eyes, squinting into the afternoon light. Ryan's flushed, and he's smiling the way he does when he's just gotten laid.

Brendon's suddenly desperate to get out of there. He leaves the water bottle sitting on the asphalt and scrambles to his feet. Maybe Spencer will play Guitar Hero with him for a while.

***

If life's taught Brendon anything it's that it's usually best to leave secrets alone, but he can't stop thinking about this one, worrying at it like a painful hangnail. He's thinking about New Year's Eve at Pete's house, and about the first time they went down to LA, when Ryan and Pete stayed in the hot tub long after the rest of them had gotten bored and wandered inside. Brendon remembers their heads bent together, glossy and dark beneath the patio lights. He's thinking there have been years of this, all the way back to when Ryan was too young for it, in spite of all the ways he tried to make himself older.

He goes to Spencer a few days later, when Ryan and Jon are out getting food. Spencer's napping in his bunk, and Brendon crawls in and pokes at Spencer's ribs until Spencer opens one eye. It's a risky move, because Spencer's always grumpy when he first wakes up, but Brendon's willing to make sacrifices for the cause.

"Spencer," Brendon says. "Spencer, I need to talk to you."

"Has somebody died?" Spencer asks.

"What? No," Brendon says.

"Is somebody injured?" Spencer asks.

Brendon wonders if Spencer's trying to play 20 Questions with him. "No."

"Then get out of my bunk before I kill you," Spencer says, and pulls a pillow over his face.

"No, Spencer, come on," Brendon says, "I really. It's about Ryan."

That's the magic word, as always. Spencer shoves the pillow away again. "You've got two minutes. Talk fast."

"Is Ryan, um. Does. With Pete?" Brendon asks.

"I'll need you to speak in complete sentences," Spencer says.

"You know. Are they," Brendon says, and makes a hand gesture that's supposed to mean "fucking in a possibly deviant and morally wrong sort of way."

"Get out of my bunk," Spencer says. "Out." He's trying to be threatening, but it doesn't really work, what with the pillow creases on his face and the way his hair's all fluffed up. It's kind of adorable, actually.

"Are they _doing it_ ," Brendon says, giving in.

"I can't believe you just called it that," Spencer says. "And how would I know? It's none of my business."

"Dude, you're a liar," Brendon says. "Ryan tells you _everything_."

"Even if I did know, I wouldn't be telling anybody," Spencer says, and pulls the pillow over his face again. It's clearly the end of the conversation. Brendon climbs back out of the bunk and goes to make himself a sandwich.

Jon's the next target. Brendon joins him on one of his hunts for cool things to photograph, and once they're out in an empty field past the buses, Brendon says, "Jon Walker, you're a smart guy."

"I sure am," Jon says. He raises the camera to his face and takes Brendon's picture. "Are you trying to butter me up?"

"Why would I do a thing like that," Brendon says. "I just like to make sure that all of my friends feel special and appreciated."

"I already told you that Spencer ate the last Snickers bar," Jon says.

"How can you think I care about candy more than I care about your love?" Brendon asks, clutching at his chest.

"You're right," Jon says. "That was wrong of me." He grins, and takes another picture.

Brendon suspects that Jon's so affable because he's high all the time, but whatever. Brendon's not one to judge. "So what do you think about Ryan and Pete," he says.

"What about them," Jon says. "Hey, let's go over there, see those flowers? I bet those'll look sweet."

They walk across the field. It's a clear day, and warm. Brendon says, "I dunno, do you think they're, um. I guess maybe I think they're not just friends."

"Huh," Jon says. He crouches down to take a picture of the flowers. They're red. That's about the extent of Brendon's flower-related knowledge.

"But seriously, like, sometimes I think maybe Pete likes Ryan _like that_ , you know, like how he's always touching Ryan and sometimes they disappear together, and on New Year's how Pete kept telling everyone that Ryan was his date. Don't you think that's a little weird?" A mosquito lands on Brendon's arm. He smacks it, and smears red across his skin.

"I guess so," Jon says. "Hey, look at this awesome flower, I think a bee died in here."

Brendon sighs.

He doesn't give up on his surveillance, but for the next few days it's just more of the same, Ryan and Pete making time for each other, Ryan's wet-mouthed smirked after. It's clear that they're fucking, and Brendon isn't sure why he can't take it at face value and let it go. He knows that it's creepy and obsessive to be following his bandmate and his bandmate's kind-of-maybe boyfriend, that it probably says some really unflattering things about him, but he can't stop. The curiosity's planted deep in him now, and he'll follow through until he's pulled up every secret by its roots.

It's a Tuesday when Ryan catches him at it. Ryan's already left the bus by the time Brendon wakes up, so Brendon pokes around Ryan's bunk, looking for clues. There's nothing useful though, just a dirty sock and the book Ryan's been reading.

Spencer's sitting in the kitchen, fishing all the marshmallows out of a bowl of Lucky Charms. "Morning," he says, squinting at Brendon.

"Have you seen Ryan?" Brendon asks.

"I think he went somewhere," Spencer says vaguely. "Here, do you want a muffin? Jon bought them."

The muffins are blueberry—Brendon's favorite. He gives up his search for Ryan long enough to sit down with Spencer and eat two of them. They're really good.

Brendon goes outside after breakfast. It's humid. He wonders what state they're in—it's easy to lose track, after weeks on the road. They might be in Georgia. Possibly.

He heads into the venue. It's cooler in there, at least, and he wanders around the back hallways for a while, opening doors and looking in empty dressing rooms. He's not even hoping he'll find Ryan, not really; he just likes to be by himself sometimes and let his thoughts unspool, his excess energy burning off with nobody there to feed it. It's quiet in the depths of the venue, with everybody out front working on getting the stage set up. He's alone.

And then he's not, as he toes open a door near the end of a hallway and sees Ryan there, on his knees on the dusty floor, and Pete with his jeans open and one hand cradling Ryan's jaw. Pete stares straight at Brendon. His pupils are blown.

"Oh," Brendon says, and Ryan turns his head at the sound, his mouth red and his eyes dark. Brendon presses one hand against the door frame. He needs to leave, needs to turn around and leave the building and go back on the bus and pretend this never happened, but he can't move. He's stuck there, hanging.

"Get out," Ryan says roughly, and Brendon bolts.

Ryan follows him out, raking a hand through his hair. "What are you doing," he says.

"Nothing," Brendon says. "I was just, um."

"Were you following me?" Ryan asks, narrowing his eyes.

Normally it would be hilarious, Ryan and his inborn paranoia and the way he thinks everyone's out to get him all the time, but it's close enough to the truth of what Brendon's doing that he panics. He's not a great liar at the best of times, and when Ryan's looking at him like that, rumpled and still hard inside his jeans, it's all Brendon can do to string two words together. "I, um," he says, floundering, "I wasn't. I was just. No?"

"You _were_ ," Ryan says.

"I wasn't," Brendon says, "why would I—you're _boring_ , why would I follow you?"

Ryan crosses his arms and scowls. "Is this about Pete?"

Brendon looks away, scratches his neck. "No," he says. "I was just—sorry, Ryan, I was just wandering around, like." He thinks fast. "I had a fight with Spencer and I just wanted to get off the bus for a while. I didn't mean to—it was an accident."

"Whatever," Ryan says. "Don't do it again."

And Brendon tries, he really does. He keeps away from Ryan altogether for a week, hiding in his bunk when they're not on stage, or joining Jon on his rambles. Jon's good company, placid and undemanding, and he doesn't have Spencer's freaky tendency to know exactly what's on Brendon's mind.

For example: "What's going on with you and Ryan?" Spencer asks, yanking aside the curtain to Brendon's bunk.

Brendon frowns. "I could have been jerking off in here," he says.

"But you weren't," Spencer says. "Why are you ignoring him?"

"I'm not," Brendon says, and holds his comic book in front of his face, blocking Spencer.

"Fix it," Spencer says, and Brendon knows they're both thinking about Brent.

In their dressing room that evening, Brendon offers Ryan a pack of gummy bears, and Ryan stares at Brendon for a moment before he takes the candy and says, "Thanks."

From his seat on the couch, Spencer gives Brendon two thumbs up.

So it's fine again after that, except for how Brendon can't stop thinking about Ryan on his knees in that empty room, his mouth sliding wetly off Pete's cock. And the way his face looked, glad and afraid.

Brendon doesn't mean to talk to Spencer about it again, but it happens anyway. They're hanging out together in the back lounge, playing some Guitar Hero and cheerfully trash-talking each other, and then Brendon has some sort of spasm and says, "About Ryan."

"Shut up and take it like a man," Spencer says, his fingers flying.

"I'm serious about this," Brendon says. He gives up on the game and sets his controller on the carpet between them. "He's, um." He chews on his lower lip. "I'm worried."

"I've noticed," Spencer says. He quits the game and tosses his own controller onto the floor. "Okay. Spill."

Brendon takes a deep breath and then says, "Pete's fucking him. And I think he has been for a long time. Like. A _long time_ , Spencer."

"So what," Spencer says. "If he—even if he is. Ryan's all grown up, he can make these decisions for himself."

"I guess so," Brendon says, and what Spencer's saying makes total sense, but he keeps thinking of Ryan at eighteen and Pete at twenty-five, and it makes his stomach feel sour and heavy. "But he's—Pete's our boss, you know, and. Um. What about Keltie?"

"What about her," Spencer says, expressionless.

"I thought. I guess I thought Ryan was straight," Brendon says.

"Apparently he's not," Spencer says.

The way he phrases it sets off alarm bells inside Brendon's head. "You didn't know about this," he says cautiously, not sure what he's saying is true.

Spencer fiddles with the zipper on his hoodie. "No," he says at last.

"Holy shit," Brendon says, and he's really not sure he wants to know the kind of secret that Ryan would keep from Spencer.

"It's not a big deal," Spencer says. "It's. Ryan doesn't tell me everything. Probably he just. I'm sure it's not a big deal."

"Spencer," Brendon says.

Spencer looks away.

***

Brendon makes excuses to himself, but the bottom line is that he starts following Ryan again.

Ryan catches him, of course, because that's the way Brendon's luck runs, and also because he gets careless and goes after Ryan one afternoon when he wanders away from the bus and into the wooded area between the venue and the highway. Pete's not even _there_ ; he left after breakfast, looking for record stores or something, but Brendon doesn't care; it's not like this whole thing is about _Pete_.

So Ryan's wandering around in the forest and communing with the trees or whatever, and then Brendon has one of his rare moments of klutziness and trips over a root, and he hits the ground hard, all the air in his lungs leaving him in a startled yelp.

"Is someone there?" he hears Ryan ask, and the crunching of fallen twigs as Ryan walks toward him.

Brendon shuts his eyes as tight as he can, like maybe if he can't see Ryan, then Ryan won't be able to see him.

"Oh," he hears Ryan say, and then, colder, "Get up."  
  
Brendon opens his eyes and clambers to his feet. His palm scraped against something when he tried to catch himself, and it's bleeding now. He wipes it against his pants. "Hi," he says.

"What are you doing," Ryan says. He's got his hands balled into fists at his sides, and his face is flushed. His cheeks would probably feel warm if Brendon touched them.

"I was. Um," Brendon says, but there's no plausible excuse for this one: he was stalking Ryan, and that's exactly what it looks like. "Nothing."

"I thought we already had this conversation," Ryan says crisply. "I told you to stop it, didn't I? I remember saying that."

"I guess," Brendon says.

"Yeah, so why the fuck are you still doing it," Ryan says.

"I wasn't," Brendon says, "I wasn't, um—"

"Why do you _care_ ," Ryan snarls. He grabs Brendon's arms and shakes him roughly. "Quit _following_ me. Jesus Christ." His fingers dig in, squeezing toward the bone, and Brendon flinches, tries to jerk away.

"Knock it off, Ross," he says. "That fucking hurts."

" _Good_ ," Ryan says. "It's none of your business! You're not my fucking keeper or my mother or whatever the hell it is you think you are that means it's okay for you to FOLLOW me and stick your nose in my business, BRENDON," and he's yelling now, loud and sharp, and Brendon hasn't seen him this angry since the Brent Implosion.

"Sorry," Brendon says, shrinking back. He's always caved pretty quick in the face of genuine fury. "I'm sorry, Ryan. I was, um. Curious." Worried, he wants to say, but can't bring himself to form the word.

"About _what_ ," Ryan snaps, not at all appeased.

"You and Pete are always sneaking off somewhere," Brendon says. "I dunno, I guess I just wanted to know what you guys get up to."

"This isn't _kindergarten_ ," Ryan says. "I don't have to share my toys with you if you feel left out. For fuck's sake." He's still scowling, but he lets go of Brendon's arms. "Whatever, Urie. You're pissing me off, go bother Spencer for a while."

"Okay," Brendon says meekly, and scuttles off.

Spencer's still on the bus, sitting in the lounge with his Sidekick. Brendon curls up next to him and leans his head on Spencer's shoulder.

"Hey," Spencer says. He turns the screen so Brendon can see it—he's texting Haley. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Brendon says, and that seems to be good enough for Spencer. They sit there for a while, Spencer chuckling from time to time and Brendon picking at the hem of his jeans, until Zack shows up and tells them it's time to get a move on.

Ryan won't meet Brendon's eyes for the rest of the day. Brendon isn't sure if that means he's won or lost.

"What's going on," Jon keeps saying before the show, looking back and forth between Brendon and Ryan, but neither of them says anything.

"Is this about the Pete thing," Spencer says to Brendon during intermission, his voice very quiet, and Brendon swallows and says, "Yeah."

"Okay," Spencer says.

Two days go by, and nothing happens. Ryan still won't say a word to Brendon. It's giving Brendon that same terrible, sinking feeling he had when everything with Brent was going down: _Oh god, we've fucked it up, the band's over._ Except in this case, there's no "we"—it's just an "I," just Brendon who's ruined it.

On Thursday, Brendon's hiding in the back lounge with his iPod when Spencer comes in, dragging Ryan by the arm. "I'm staging an intervention," Spencer announces, and kicks the door shut behind him.

"Um. Okay," Brendon says.

Ryan crosses his arms and scowls.

"Sit," Spencer says to Ryan, and points at the couch. Ryan sits. He's close enough to touch, if Brendon stretched his arm out all the way.

Brendon turns off his iPod. Spencer's in Listen To Me Or I Will Fuck You Up mode, which doesn't happen much anymore, but when it does, Brendon knows from experience that he'd better shut up and listen.

"I want you both to tell me what's going on," Spencer says.

"Nothing," Ryan says.

"He's _lying_ ," Brendon says hotly. It feels good to say it—he's tired of Ryan sneaking around and hiding things. He wants it all out in the open.

" _Fuck you_ ," Ryan says, "you don't know _anything_ , just because you're fucking STALKING me doesn't mean you have any idea what—"

"Stop it," Spencer says, and Ryan pulls his knees up against his chest and wraps his arms around his shins, his face red.

"Ryan," Brendon says, but then he can't think of anything to say after that, so he closes his mouth again.

"You and, um. You and Pete," Spencer says.

"We're friends," Ryan says.

Brendon snorts. "You're not _friends_ , dude, you're—I _saw_ you. Doing stuff."

"'Doing stuff,'" Ryan repeats, and rolls his eyes. "We're just fucking. It's not a big deal."

"There's never 'just' anything with Pete," Spencer says. "What about Keltie?"

"She doesn't care," Ryan says.

"Really," Spencer says.

"She doesn't _know_ ," Ryan says. "Which is the same thing."

"It's not," Spencer says. "Ryan, you're—what are you _doing_."

Brendon can see Ryan decide to tell them. He crosses his legs and primly folds his hands on top of his knees, squares his shoulders. "Fine," Ryan says. "I got us the record deal."

"What—what do you mean," Brendon says.

"You remember how we played for Pete, and then we met up with Spence and Brent for dinner later? Why do you think Pete and I left early that night, Brendon. To go crochet some afghans?" Ryan's tone is scornful. "We went back to his hotel room and he fucked me. That's why we have the record deal."

"I don't believe you," Brendon says, even though he does—of course he does, it's what he's been searching for for the past two months, the heart of Ryan's secret, and now all the layers are peeling back and Brendon's not sure he wants to know this—not sure, after all the prying he's done, but this is more than what he expected to find. It's worse.

Ryan shrugs.

Brendon bites his lip and sneaks a glance at Spencer. Spencer's expressionless, which makes Brendon nervous—the more upset Spencer is, the more impassive he gets. After Ryan's dad died, Spencer went around for an entire week looking like he'd never been more bored in his life.

Brendon says, "Why did you—"

"We got signed, didn't we?" Ryan asks.

Spencer stops looming over them and sits down on the floor, crossing his legs, and Brendon senses the shift in the room like a change in barometric pressure. Ryan's holding court now, regal and composed from his seat on the couch.

"You shouldn't have—it didn't have to be like that," Brendon says into the quiet that Spencer's voice should be filling. "We could have—it's not like Pete was the only option."

"We weren't that good," Ryan said. "We weren't anywhere near good enough to get a record deal. We had three songs, and we'd never played a live show, and Pete Wentz signed us to his label. Fuck, didn't you guys ever wonder about that?"

"Yes," Spencer says softly.

"I got us out," Ryan says. "We were dying there. I had to get us out."

"We _weren't_ ," Brendon says.

"Don't even say that to me," Ryan says, "I was there, I know what it was like, with your parents and—they would have sent you away, they would have made you go on a mission."

"No," Brendon says, "I would have left anyway, no matter what," but he's not sure it's true. It's not that it was easy to walk out of his parents' house that night, both of them red-eyed and grim at the kitchen table, but having the record deal gave a shape to his future, made it something he could visualize. He's not sure he would have been able to leave otherwise. He'll never know, now; it's happened already, and he'll never be able to go back and do it again.

"But you're still," Spencer says, face turned up, staring at Ryan.

"I want it," Ryan says. "You're acting like he—he didn't _force_ me. For fuck's sake. He doesn't—I _like_ it."

"Shit," Jon says harshly, and they all look over to see him standing in the doorway, a beer bottle dangling from his fingers.

Brendon inhales. His stomach hurts, a slow, dull throb, like what he imagines an ulcer would feel like.

"How long have you been there," Spencer says.

"Long enough," Jon says.

There's a pause.

"It's got nothing to do with you," Ryan says finally. "You weren't there." Brendon thinks that probably what he means is, _It's not your fault_ , but he sees Jon's face crumple and knows that Jon hears, _You still aren't part of this_.

Brendon can't stand to be in the room for another second. He stands up. He feels like all of his nerves are firing too fast, sending signals that his brain can't decipher. "I'm going out," he says, and doesn't wait for a response before he's pushing past Jon and leaving the bus and running across the parking lot, blindly, the summer air hot in his lungs.

***

They play the worst show of the tour that night. Jon fumbles the bass lines like he hasn't since he first started playing with them, and Brendon forgets the lyrics to "Lying" halfway through and has to act like he meant for the audience to sing that verse.

"That was horrible," Spencer says backstage, after.

"Tell me about it," Brendon mutters.

Jon calls first shower, and Brendon sits on the couch with Spencer while Ryan rustles around in his enormous duffel bag of crap, humming to himself. There are bruises on his wrist, like maybe Pete tied him to the headboard with a belt. Not that Brendon's visualizing it.

He misses Brent suddenly, sharply: Brent who was there at the beginning, who maybe could have seen something or done something, and maybe chose not to. Who could at least share Brendon's guilt.

Some of the techs have a party that night, the sort of drunken gathering that happens pretty much every night on tour, people clustering around the vans until it's time to hit the road for their next destination. Brendon drinks two Red Bulls on the bus and then goes outside to join in.

He has a few beers, and a few shots of whatever it is in the bottle that Jordan's carrying around, and he's halfway to completely wasted when he sees Ryan and Pete. Pete's got one hand in Ryan's back pocket, and Ryan's leaning into him, smiling with his mouth open. He bites his lip when he catches Brendon's eye and looks away, says something to Pete and then disappears into the crowd.

Brendon moves in for the kill before Pete can follow. He elbows a tech out of the way and says, "So. Pete. Hi."

"Hey," Pete says. He brushes his hair out of his eyes and looks right at Brendon, expression serious.

"Ryan told us," Brendon says.

"Yeah. I heard," Pete says.

"He was a kid," Brendon says. "He was barely eighteen."

"He asked me to," Pete says. "You know that, right? I swear I—Christ, Brendon, you _know_ I never would've—I never would have done anything if he hadn't begged me to. You know I'm not that person."

"Sure," Brendon says. "Of course not." Maybe it's the alcohol, or maybe he's just growing up, but he can't hate Pete for this. The guy's still five years old on the inside, and he probably didn't realize—Brendon thinks he probably didn't see Ryan as a kid. Just as someone who could be a friend, or whatever Ryan is to Pete.

"So, uh," Pete says, and shoves his hands in his pockets.

"I have to go," Brendon says. "I'll see you later, okay?"

He walks away from the party, not heading anywhere in particular, just out into the darkness. There's a street lined with shops near the venue, and Brendon looks through the windows at pastry cases, racks of shirts. It's a warm night, but it's late enough that nobody else is out.

He goes back to the bus after a while. All the lights are off, but Ryan's sitting in the lounge, his face lit by the glow of his Sidekick screen.

"Hi," Brendon says.

Ryan looks up. "Hey."

"Do you, um," Brendon says. He clears his throat. "Can I sit down?"

Ryan shrugs. "I can't stop you."

That's good enough for Brendon. He sits down next to Ryan and bends down to take off his shoes. He feels a little light-headed still, but the worst of it wore off during his walk. "Where are Jon and Spencer?"

"Asleep," Ryan says, punching keys.

"Where's, uh. Where's Pete?" Brendon asks.

"I don't know," Ryan says. "Still at the party." He closes his Sidekick and turns to look at Brendon. It's too dark on the bus for Brendon to make out his expression, just the dark mass of Ryan's hair, the pale smudge of his face. "Why do you care?" Ryan asks, and his tone isn't mean, just curious for once.

Brendon says, "Pete shouldn't have—you shouldn't have had to—"

"I did," Ryan says, "I did it, and it was years ago, Brendon. It was four years ago. It doesn't matter anymore."

"It does," Brendon says, and either he's drunker than he realized or he's an idiot, because he leans in and touches Ryan's hair, gropes his hand down Ryan's face, leans in further and kisses Ryan's soft mouth.

Ryan kisses him back.

Brendon loses track of how long they sit there in the dark, their mouths sliding together, Ryan's little noises making Brendon's belly feel hot and tight. Ryan tastes a little like beer still, and he smells like cigarette smoke and the girly shampoo he uses. Brendon tries to catalogue every detail. He knows it won't last.

It doesn't. Ryan's Sidekick vibrates, and he pulls away, licking his lips. "We can't," he says. His voice is too loud for the midnight stillness on the bus.

"Why not," Brendon says.

"It's a bad idea," Ryan says.

"You do it with Pete," Brendon says. His throat feels raw. "You do it with Pete all the time, so why won't you—why—"

"It's different," Ryan says.

Brendon can't think of anything else to say. He sits there while Ryan flips open his Sidekick again and punches keys, texting someone—Pete, Keltie, maybe Spencer who's been lying awake listening to the whole thing. Brendon doesn't know.

He stands up after a while. "I'm going to bed."

"Sure," Ryan says. He doesn't look away from his phone.

"So," Brendon says. "Okay then."

It's quiet back in the bunks, Jon and Spencer both breathing steadily in their sleep. When Brendon shoves his hand inside his boxers, it doesn't take him long to get off.

***

In the morning, Jon makes waffles.

"Are you—is that breakfast?" Brendon asks, stumbling out of the bunks.

"Chocolate chip waffles," Jon says. He's got a batter-covered spoon in his hand, and as Brendon watches, it drips onto the floor. "Oops," Jon says.

"Ryan's gonna yell," Brendon says. He grabs a sponge from beside the sink and kneels down to wipe at the floor. The waffle maker chimes. Brendon chews at a rough spot on his lip. "He didn't mean it, you know. What he, uh, what he said yesterday. Or, I guess he meant it, but not the way you thought he meant it, so—"

Jon laughs. "It's fine, man."

Brendon looks up. Jon's smiling at him, and it looks like a real smile, like he's not just trying to placate Brendon. "Okay," Brendon says. "Good. Is that waffle for me?"

"You're the only one up, so I guess so," Jon says, and then hollers, "If any of you motherfuckers want waffles, you'd better get your lazy asses out of bed!"

"Wow," Brendon says.

It works, though; Ryan and Spencer both get up, squinting and rubbing at their eyes, and they all sit at the little table and eat Jon's waffles, and it's not—Brendon expected that things would be awkward for a while, that maybe Ryan would be mad at them or they wouldn't know what to say to him, but it's fine. It's just like always. And then after a while Pete comes out and joins them, and maybe it's a little quieter after that, but then Jon starts telling some story Cassie told him about a friend of her roommate who got trashed and kicked a skunk in the woods, and they all laugh, and things are. Everything's fine.

Brendon can't shake the weird tightness in his chest, though. It lasts all day; gets worse when he sees Ryan and Pete before the show that night, sitting close together on the couch and laughing at something on Pete's phone.

They stay in a hotel that night. Ryan makes a show of taking his key card and following Brendon to their room, setting his bag at the foot of one of the beds, unpacking his pajamas. Brendon sits on his own bed and watches Ryan as he hunts through his duffel, muttering to himself about socks.

"Why are you doing this," Brendon says, without really meaning to. "We both know you're not going to spend the night here, so why—"

"Shut up," Ryan says.

"Do you love him?" Brendon asks.

Ryan sits back and looks at Brendon, his palms resting on his thighs. He looks calm, and older than he is. "He's a good friend," he says, "and I love him in that way, I guess. But I'm not _in love_ with him. If that's what you're asking."

"So why," Brendon says. "Don't you want someone—"

"It's less complicated this way," Ryan says.

Brendon snorts, because seriously, Pete is the most complicated person he's ever met. "What?"

"I'm not in a band with him, and I don't have to put up with him every day for months on end, and I'm not in love with him," Ryan says. He flushes pink and looks away. "It's less complicated."

"Oh," Brendon says.

"And I _am_ spending the night here," Ryan says.

"Okay," Brendon says.

They order room service and go to bed early. Brendon brushes his teeth at the bathroom sink, watching his own face in the mirror, the toothpaste foaming at the corners of his mouth. He wonders what Pete's doing now, if he's still waiting for Ryan to show up with his magazines and his pajamas.

Brendon gets in bed and listens to Ryan shuffling around the room, the tap turning on and off, the click of the lamp. The air conditioner cuts on. Brendon thinks about the four-hour drive and the two interviews they have scheduled for tomorrow, and the show, and after the show, and Ryan.

"It was worth it," Ryan says suddenly. "You can't tell me it wasn't worth it."

 _It wasn't worth it_ , Brendon thinks, but he looks up at the ceiling and doesn't say anything. After a while, he hears Ryan's breathing even out into the steady pattern of sleep. Brendon lies awake for a long time.  



End file.
